


Holly and Ivy

by latin_cat



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke, Master and Commander - All Media Types, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latin_cat/pseuds/latin_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Captain Jno. Aubrey, RN and Dr S. E. Maturin have an Encounter with Faerie, and Demonstrate Dr Maturin’s Talent for Tempering the Irrational with Reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holly and Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> I owe the inspiration for this story to the poem 'Thomas the Rhymer' and the carol 'The Holly and the Ivy'. Merry Christmas, everyone! :)

The events of this tale occurred at the manor of Woolcombe in Dorset, during the winter of 18―. The ancestral seat of the Aubrey family, at that time the estate was in the hands of the renowned Captain (later Admiral) John Aubrey; a veteran of the Battle of the Nile, and one of Britain’s most celebrated seafarers.

***

It was Christmas Eve. Preparations were near completion for the following day’s festivities, both at Woolcombe House and the nearby village of Woolcompton. At the manor Mrs Sophia Aubrey, the captain’s wife, was going from room to room ensuring all would be ready for the arrival of their guests in the morning. So far she had found all to her satisfaction; however, on entering the hall she spied that the mantelpiece was bare of decoration. A frown creased her brow and, sensing that something was amiss, she went to seek her husband – whom she found supervising the installation of the Yule log in the dining room.

“Jack, my dearest,” Mrs Aubrey said (for all of the captain’s intimates called him ‘Jack’). “Where is the holly and ivy for the mantel in the hall? Is it not fetched in?”

Captain Aubrey’s expression of surprise instantly betrayed his guilt to his wife. Though Mrs Aubrey was a handsome woman of middle age and possessed of a sweet and loving nature, she had been blessed with a true harridan for a mother, and so her gentle nature was underpinned with a ruthless common sense and an iron will when it came to running a household.

“Oh Jack, you have not fetched it in! You promised you would do so this morning!”

“I am sorry, Sophie,” the captain said, suitably contrite and ignoring the barely-suppressed amusement of the footmen at his being caught short. “It slipped my mind completely – I cannot think how! I will go and fetch it in directly.”

Immediately Mrs Aubrey regretted her harsh rebuke, despite her previous disappointment, as she directed an anxious glance out of the window.

“But you do not have time!” she protested. “It will be dark within the hour, and I am sure it is coming on to snow again; those clouds to the east speak to me of nothing but snow. I should hate for you to catch your death, or to turn your ancle over in the dark for the sake of a few silly sprigs of holly!”

Her concern was well founded as the old General, Captain Aubrey’s father, had not suffered holly to grow near the house, and as such had all the trees that had seeded themselves uprooted from his park at the same time as he had made drastic – and in Captain Aubrey’s opinion ill-considered – alterations to the house. The nearest place where holly could be found was in the woods bordering Simmons Lea; a quarter of a mile away, and that not by any good path. Yet Captain Aubrey’s nature forbade him to abandon any project to which he had committed himself, and so he replied with a smile:

“Not at all! It will not snow within these next two hours, and I shall not take nearly so long as that. And as to the dark, why, I have been running around the country hereabouts since I was no more than a squeaker; it don’t signify at all.”

“If you are certain,” Mrs Aubrey said, relenting slightly, as she was still most anxious to secure holly and ivy for her mantelpiece. “But you must take Bonden or Killick with you.”

“Bonden I have sent down to the Arms in Woolcompton to fetch the servants’ ale, and Killick is polishing the silver for tomorrow’s dinner.”

“But, Jack, you cannot possibly go alone! What if you should take a tumble? I cannot bear to think of you lying in the woods without help.”

“Then I shall take Stephen. You would not mind coming with me, Stephen old chap?”  
Up until this moment Dr Stephen Maturin, Captain Aubrey’s particular friend, had been quietly reading in one of the window seats. He eyed the snow-encrusted landscape on the other side of the glass with every sign of reluctance.

“If it is an errand of vital importance...” he began hesitantly, which Captain Aubrey took as his agreement to the expedition. He turned again to his wife, beaming.

“There you are, I shall not be alone. And I daresay I am in safer hands with Stephen than with Bonden or Killick should I take a tumble! Do not fret, sweetheart; we will be back before you know it.”

***

“I thought you said you knew these woods, Jack?”

“I did,” Captain Aubrey grunted, his breath misting in the biting air as he peered through the gloom around them, which their lantern did little to penetrate. “And generally speaking I do, yet I admit some parts I have not visited in a few years. And these trees seem all one in the dark, do they not?”

Dr Maturin saved himself the indignity of sighing aloud, and merely shook his head. They had made the woods in excellent time and had found their holly and ivy – one sack of holly Captain Aubrey carried over his shoulder, whilst the doctor had custody of the ivy – yet returning to the house was proving something of a difficultly. They had come by a very narrow track, and whilst they had been cutting the holly and ivy snow had begun to fall in blatant defiance of the captain’s earlier prediction. On seeking their path again, they had found with some dismay that the fresh snow had already covered their footprints, and retracing what they had thought to be their steps had only taken them deeper into the woods. Dr Maturin regretted not taking closer note of their route on the way; yet he had trusted in his friend’s asserted mastery of the local geography, and so had not bothered.

“How strange it is that I should have forgotten the holly,” the captain murmured to himself, as they trudged onwards in the direction which they imagined was north. “Especially as I only reminded myself of it yesterday!”

“Then why did you not gather it yesterday when you thought of it?” the doctor asked peevishly. “It would have saved us the journey this evening.”

“Oh no,” the captain said, shaking his head emphatically. “No, that would never have done. It goes against the custom.”

Dr Maturin frowned, his confusion clear, so the captain took it upon himself to elaborate further.

“That the holly must only be cut on Christmas Eve.”

“That is the custom?”

“But of course!” the captain exclaimed. “I thought everyone knew that.”

“I was unaware of any such significance,” Dr Maturin replied in wonder. “Though by your dumbfounded expression I gather it must by a widely-held belief. But why must the holly only be cut today?”

“Why?” Captain Aubrey cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “To be honest I can’t say exactly why, only that everyone knows it’s dashed unlucky to cut the holly at any other time. I say, Stephen, you haven’t been cutting holly all about the place, have you?”

“I have not,” the doctor said, as he reflected on the superstitious nature of sailors, of country folk in general and heathen beliefs that had endured, despite the best efforts of the Primitive Church. “In truth I have never yet felt the urge.” 

“That is a relief to be sure,” the captain remarked. “But you truly did not know of it? Really, Stephen, for a learned cove I find you can be shockingly ignorant at times.”

“So far as such matters are concerned, ignorance is subjective,” Dr Maturin countered. “For I am certain that I in turn should find you shockingly ignorant of the folk customs of Catalonia or Old Castile.”

“You have me there,” Captain Aubrey admitted.

“Undoubtedly,” said his friend. “What I cannot understand, though, is your insisting on fetching the holly yourself. I would have thought this to be the sort of errand to trust to a footman or gamekeeper.”

“That would never do either, Stephen. It must be gathered by the man of house and no other, else it will be frightfully bad luck.”

“It seems a lot of effort to expend simply to secure good luck,” Dr Maturin observed testily, laying his sack down for a moment to beat the snow off his arms and shoulders. “Is there anything else I should know about holly?”

“Not that I can recall,” Captain Aubrey said, after a moment’s thought. “Save that it cures the coughs – or is that ivy? No, no! That is ivy, I am certain. Sophie had the twins drink from a cup of ivy wood when they had the whooping cough and they were right as trivets in no time. She had it from Old Tomlinson, down High Corsham way. Used to turn a fine line in such cups, he did, paying attention to the right hour and phase of the moon when harvesting the wood.”

Dr Maturin was about to make a scathing remark regarding the medical qualifications of such characters as Old Tomlinson, when he heard a sound that made the words die in his throat and prick up his ears.

“Jack,” he asked. “Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Hush! There it is again.”

Sure enough in the silence that followed as both men listened intently, there came the fast-approaching sound of horses’ hooves, accompanied by high-pitched laughter and the tinkling of a multitude of bells. No sooner had the captain and doctor heard this, however, then from out of the trees there appeared a number of riders on milk-white horses. They reined in their mounts in a flurry of whinnies and snow, only just spotting the captain and doctor in time to avoid riding them down.

"Look, lady – mortals!"

Turning back from where he had flinched away, Dr Maturin looked up to see a host of men and women with beautiful but cruel faces, exquisitely attired in green and silver. At the head of the party, undeniably the leader of the company, was a lady more beautiful and richly garbed than the rest. She was tall and slender in her build, dressed in a cloak of thick white fur with green leather gloves and boots. Her skin was as pale and flawless as the falling snow, her lips the red of newly-spilt blood, and her crow-black hair coiled down her back to her feet, dressed with so many diamonds that her tresses gleamed like the night sky full of stars. A thin circlet of silver gleamed upon her high, smooth brow.

“Hail, travellers!” she greeted them. Her voice was at once captivating and terrible; soft as the sweetest lullaby, shrill as the fiercest hurricane. “A fine night, and well met!”

“Just so, madam,” the doctor heard Captain Aubrey say. He turned to see his friend touch his hat, gazing wonderingly at the lady and her company. Though utterly bewildered by their sudden and strange appearance, it seemed the captain was nonetheless mindful of his manners. “Your pardon, I do not believe we are acquainted. Or, at least, I do not remember having seen you hereabouts before?”

The lady smiled, waving her hand dismissively.

“All men remember me, whether they know me or not. But it is true, I have not been this way for many centuries – or do I mean millennia? I find time a tedious thing to pay much mind, do you not?”

The captain and doctor exchanged glances, as neither could think of an answer to that.

“And what brings you now this way, madam?” asked Stephen. The lady turned her attention to him, a look of mild disdain lighting in her eyes.

“We ride out for the hunt.”

“But, ma’am,” Captain Aubrey said with a frown, ever concerned with proper form when it came to hunting. “The hunt does not begin until the day after tomorrow. You and your party are somewhat premature.”

At this the lady laughed, and her horse shook its head, and her laughter was accompanied by the pealing of numerous tiny bells, which were plaited into the horse’s mane. Almost too numerous to count, but Stephen felt certain that should he care to count them he would find there to be fifty-nine.

“Oh no, you misunderstand,” she said breezily. “I seek no common vermin! Today is our feast day. I have paid my tithes to Heaven and Hell, and now I ride out to seek a new lover – a man worthy of my estate.”

“Forgive me, ma’am,” Dr Maturin replied, growing increasingly uneasy at this turn in the conversation. “You are obviously a lady of great estate; I would not have thought you would find any difficulty in securing a husband in the usual manner.”

“My husband? He has nothing to do with this.”

Again that look of disdain in her dark eyes; again that sneer which threatened to curl at those beautiful lips. Part of Dr Maturin’s mind, a part which he thought he had left behind him long ago, was remembering the stories he had learnt at his nurse’s feet during long winter evenings. He remembered tales of children stolen from their parents and taken under the Mound, of Seelie and Unseelie folk who danced and sang, and rode beneath the starlight – and he remembered the stories of their queen. A tall lady, more beautiful than the wildest dreams of men, yet cruel and merciless in her dealings; of her penchant for taking mortal lovers, only to pay them as tithe to Hell after the seven years they were kept in her service.

“Well, ma’am,” the captain said, cutting into the doctor’s thoughts. “We wish you good fortune in your search. And now we must be on our way, before the night draws in any further.”

But the lady’s dark eyes snapped round to fix on the captain and hold him in her gaze, like a cat might suddenly spy a mouse and lay low to keep it in its sights; hungry, watchful, deadly.

“Oh no – stay, stay!” the lady said sweetly. “Our business tonight is merry-making, and I would fain have you join our company. You interest me, good mortal. You have courage and _politesse_ , and you have a deep love of these woods. Tell me, do you belong to this land?”

“In a way, ma’am,” replied the captain, though he was clearly uncomfortable with her attention, and found the question to be oddly-phrased. “Though this part is common ground. I am the lord of the manor hereabouts.”

“A lord!” The lady clapped her hands together in almost childish delight. “Do you hear that, friends? We are well met indeed. Wine!” she called imperiously to her entourage. “Our guests will sup with us. We shall have food and music.”

“Jack, I do not like this,” Dr Maturin whispered as the lady’s attention was momentarily engaged elsewhere, the members of the company beginning to dismount and look, for all intents and purposes, as if they were about to set up for a _pique-nique_.

“Nor I, Stephen old fellow,” The captain whispered in return. “They are a strange set to be sure, but asides from that Sophie will be getting monstrous worried if we are gone for much longer.”

This indeed was true, but Dr Maturin doubted that even the prospect of the vengeful wrath of Sophia Aubrey could save them from their present company. He cast his mind back, raking the corners of his memory for the things Bridie had told him could weaken a _sidhe_. There was iron and fire, of which they had neither about their person, and the sea was said to reject their kind – and that was just as useful. What else? The colour red repelled them, and broke their glamours. A small spark of hope blossomed in Dr Maturin’s breast, and he turned to the captain.

“Jack,” he hissed. “Give me your sack.”

“My sack?” the captain asked, puzzled.

“Please, trust me on this. Swap mine for yours. Lady,” the doctor called, when this was done. “You are generous, to be sure, with your hospitality. But surely, we cannot accept unless we give a fair gift in return.”

The lady turned from her companions, her sharp eyes fixing on the doctor.

“A gift?” she queried.

“A fair exchange, lady,” the doctor said humbly, making a shallow but courtly bow. “For your courtesy.”

And out of Captain Aubrey’s sack the doctor took a branch of holly, thick with red berries against the dark green lustre of its thorny leaves. The company recoiled at the offered branch hissing, their faces twisting into expressions of hostility and fear. The lady drew back, wrinkling her nose in displeasure; a movement which caused her horse to arch its neck and paw the ground aggressively.

“How dare you!” she shrieked, furious. “How dare you offer such an affront to me? I offer my favour to you, and your reply is this insult!”

“If our offer of good fortune is an affront, madam,” Stephen said curtly. “Then I do not see how I or my friend could in all conscience accept your favour – if it ever was, indeed, a favour. I suggest that your sport may be sought elsewhere, for clearly there is nothing here for you.”

The lady narrowed her gaze, her dark eyes hard and burning like stars.

“You care for this human,” she said. “And you mark him as yours. Very well; I am sworn to do no harm this night, and I will allow you your prize. Yet do not think I shall forget this, little one. You may live to regret it indeed.”

And with that she kicked back her heels sharply, her horse reared and turned about with a cry and, just as they had appeared, the company galloped off in a flurry of snow and ringing bells. Once again the captain and the doctor found themselves alone in the woods, the hoof prints in the snow the only evidence that the weird lady and her entourage had not simply been a figment of their imaginations.

Without a word the two men shouldered their burdens and once more set off for home. Almost as soon as they started walking they found that the trees were no longer so dense, the dark less impenetrable, and they had not gone but a hundred yards when they came to the edge of the woods and the white, open expanse of the park was there before them; the lights of Woolcombe House burning cheerily in the distance. Each breathed sighs of contentment and relief, the chill air misting about their lips, and they quickened their pace homeward, anticipating a warm fire, hot coffee and mulled wine.

“That was a dashed crafty wheeze of yours, Stephen, offering her the branch,” Captain Aubrey said, after a while. “I did not think how we should have excused ourselves easily else. But how did you know she would not take it?”

“She was a wholly ungracious lady,” Dr Maturin replied, thinking only to spare his friend from the truth of the matter. “I thought it unlikely that she would repay simple courtesy in kind.”

He half expected a demand for a fuller explanation, yet to his surprise Captain Aubrey simply nodded thoughtfully and said:

“True enough, brother; she came it a bit high. Besides, I did not care for her paying such disrespect to her husband, whoever the poor devil may be. No, I did not care for her at all.”

Dr Maturin felt it best not to comment. A few paces on the captain again broke the silence.

“Still,” he said thoughtfully. “It was the strangest thing, but she reminded me of a story I once heard as a child.”

“Oh?” Dr Maturin asked with every outward appearance of nonchalance, despite the feeling of unease returning to his breast.

“Yes, it is most peculiar. It was about some cove named Thomas the Rhymer – though do not ask me why he was called a rhymer, for I do not think he was a poet. Mowett would know for certain, I am sure. Anyway, this Thomas fellow was sitting one day minding his own business, when along comes a beautiful woman on a white horse, who steals him away to fairy land for seven years.”

“And our lady reminded you of her?”

“That she did. Quite vividly.”

“Well,” said Dr Maturin tartly, seeing to turn his friend’s mind from folk tales and fairies. “It is well for us that she moved on swiftly enough. I have no desire to encounter Faerie, nor any other such superstitious nonsense on this or any evening.”

“Oh, as to fairies,” the captain said blithely. “I daresay we would have been alright. After all, we are well-equipped enough.”

“With the holly?” Dr Maturin asked shrewdly.

“Why, yes, I suppose the holly too. I was thinking of the ivy, though.”

“The ivy?” The doctor stopped in his tracks.

“Yes, the ivy.” Captain Aubrey beamed at Dr Maturin’s slack-jawed expression. “Nothing better for warding off fairies than the ivy. Really, Stephen, I thought everyone knew that!”

FIN.

 

[ ](http://s13.photobucket.com/user/latin_cat/media/Art%20and%20Craft/Alyson001_zps1cd07097.jpg.html)  



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